It's not just boys who need male role models

Natasha Devon, raised by her single mum, only realised in her twenties
how much emotional support she'd missed out on by not having a father to
talk to

A still from the Ronald McDonald House Charities advert Photo: YouTube

By Natasha Devon

8:32AM BST 26 Aug 2014

This month, Ronald McDonald House Charities, which provides accommodation for families of children who have to remain in hospital long-term, launched a new television advert. In it, a little girl is asked to describe what it means to know that her dad is nearby and responds, “it’s just his voice”.

The advert struck me as more than a little bit brilliant. At last,after years of men being portrayed as incompetent and disposable by marketers, here was a slice of modern culture which acknowledged the emotional and psychological importance of male parents. Not only that, it managed to convey the elusive, almost inexplicable comfort of your dad’s physical presence in less than 30 seconds. Bravo, Ronald, bravo.

By contrast, this summer a group of four feminist authors (including Caitlin Moran) released a book of short essays entitled“Are Men Obsolete?”. The concept is nothing new – what with women gaining independent economic power along with the simultaneous invention of Rampant Rabbits and automated spider catchers, men have increasingly been derided and labelled as disposable. However humorously done, the sentiment has never sat comfortably with me, because it reduces the value of men merely to what they are able to provide physically – money, DIY services, sex – without any acknowledgment of what they give us emotionally.

Whether consciously or not, we hardly ever incorporate emotional support into our notion of what it is to be a man, husband, brother or father. Traditionally, anything related to feelings has been painted as the remit of women.

My own experiences have taught me that a man’s worth is more than the sum of his earning capacity coupled with his handiness with a power drill. I was one year old when my own biological father unceremoniously walked out on his three year marriage to my 22-year-old mother. I was too young to remember the incident or anything about him.

As I grew up, my mother and my extended family competently ensured that all of my physical and a hefty chunk of my emotional needs were catered for. At one stage, my Mum held down five jobs in order to support us. When I think back to my earliest memories of her, she was under the bonnet of our clapped-out old yellow car, fixing something whilst wearing denim hot pants. To this day, I’ve never met anyone who balances the ability to be so feminine yet so physically capable. I learned from her not only how to apply make-up and bake fairy cakes, but how to change a plug and use a chainsaw.

Although I didn’t attribute it to the absence of my father, I did however experience a constant sensation of emptiness I couldn’t properly articulate. Sometimes, as I child, I used to imagine my insides had been scooped out, leaving me hollow shell. It was an image that seemed to fit with how I was feeling.

I remember friends at school talking about advice their dads had given them and imagining it would somehow be fundamentally different from any words of wisdom you could get from your mum – not better necessarily - but just valuable in a different way. Looking back, although there was nothing I didn’t feel comfortable talking to my mother about, sometimes I simply yearned for a male perspective that would open my world view to heretofore unexplored possibilities.

When I began dating, I had an unsurprising inherent distrust of men, whilst paradoxically yearning for their attention and approval. I often dated people much older than me and prone to possessive and controlling behaviour in a classic ‘Daddy complex’ type way.

Yet when people asked me for my perspective on not knowing my father, I could only muster a shrug. I felt, to be brutally honest, completely indifferent. I was labouring under the misapprehension that you could not miss what you had never had and besides, I had a brilliant mum, for which I considered myself extremely lucky.

It was only seven years ago, when my mum met the man to whom she is now married, that I conclusively understood what dads bring to the table (and it has nothing to do with plug wiring or spider catching). Even now, at the age of 33, just knowing my step-dad is there brings a sense of security and wellbeing that isn’t measurable but is immeasurably valuable. It’s no coincidence that it is during those seven years that I have found the confidence to start my own business and forge ahead with my career (as well as meeting the love of my own life, who is a kind and decent man).

Of course, I can comprehend better than most that sometimes one parent families are an unavoidable reality of life and that there are many wonderful single mothers (and indeed fathers) working their fingers to the bone to support their offspring in difficult circumstances. Yet, in our culture where men are so often made to feel as though they exist on the periphery of families (and, indeed, society) and that their presence is something which can be taken or left, I think it’s necessary to take a moment to reflect on how devastating their absence would be.

Are men obsolete? Absolutely not. There is no modern or technological invention on Earth that is a substitute for the feeling you get when you hear your dad’s voice.